“Mean and nasty isn’t you, Jamie.”
“I hope not.”
“It isn’t,” says Cool Girl. “Your heart is too big to ever be that small.”
And then guess what?
She doesn’t kiss me. Again.
(I really thought she might this time.)
Chapter 48
GOOD NEWS/BAD NEWS
If there’s an upside to being fired from my own sitcom, it’s that I have all the time in the world to go to that library lunch sponsored by the Books of Hope charity.
Of course, there’s also a downside: I have to explain to Uncle Frankie why I’m totally free for the day.
“They did the impossible,” I tell him when we’re in his van the next day, on our way to the library gig. “They replaced me. Jamie Funnie is being done without Jamie Grimm.”
“No way.”
“Way.”
“We should go straight to the BNC headquarters building in Manhattan,” says Uncle Frankie. “Threaten them with all sorts of bad publicity!”
“Can we just go entertain the kids at the library instead?”
Uncle Frankie glances over at me and smiles. “Sure thing, kiddo.”
Suddenly, my phone starts chirping.
It’s Mr. Wetmore, the technical director on the Jamie Funnie show.
“Hey, Jamie. Hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.”
“No, sir. We’re on our way to the Long Beach Public Library to entertain some really cool kids.”
“Sounds like fun, but you need to come back to Silvercup Studios today. Three o’clock sharp.”
“Why? Does Ms. Wilder still want my sweater-vest? Because I told her yesterday, it’s not a costume, it’s just what I wear, even though nobody else has worn a puffy vest since, like, 1986.”
Mr. Wetmore laughs. “No, Jamie. This has nothing to do with your wardrobe. It’s an audition.”
“For what?”
“For you. Jacky Hart and I made a few calls. Mr. Amodio is willing to give you another chance.”
“Seriously?”
“I told him my own daughter wouldn’t watch the show if you weren’t in it. Jacky told him you’re made for live TV. You’re on at three, Jamie.”
“We’ll be there!”
“What’s up?” asks Uncle Frankie when I thumb off my phone.
“Do you believe in miracles?” I say.
“Hey, I’m looking at you, aren’t I?” Then he reaches over and tousles my hair.
I love when he does that.
“Mr. Wetmore arranged an audition for me. For Jamie Funnie!”
“Excellent,” says Uncle Frankie. “For what part?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe Jillda Jewel.”
Uncle Frankie is cracking up. “Come on. Let’s go warm up your funny bones!”
We pull into the library parking lot and roll up the handicapped ramp.
It’s showtime.
Chapter 49
SHHH! IT’S A LIBRARY!
The kids all shriek when I roll into the library.
Yep, they treat me like a rock star. And I have to say, it feels fantastic to hear that applause again.
Being funny should be fun.
Right now, it is.
“Hi, guys,” I say, popping a few wheelies. “I’m Jamie Grimm, and it’s great to be here. Anybody read a good book recently?”
The kids all scream, “I did, I did!”
“My Uncle Frankie is going to show you a few yo-yo tricks later on. And guess what? He learned every single one of them from a book.”
“It’s true,” Uncle Frankie chimes in.
“In fact,” I say, “if Uncle Frankie couldn’t read, he’d probably think his yo-yo was a very quiet plastic pet on an extremely short leash.”
I mime Uncle Frankie tugging on a string, talking to a yo-yo on the floor.
“‘That’s a good boy. Play dead. Roll over. Okay, keep playing dead.’ Trust me, you guys—reading is super-important. You can’t do anything or go anywhere without reading. I said the same thing to my cousin Stevie the other day, and he said, ‘Oh, really? I don’t need to read in the bathroom.’ And I said, ‘When you’re in the shower, how do you know which bottle is the shampoo and which one is the toilet-bowl cleaner? Or is that why you have that bald spot?’”
While the kids are laughing, I check out the crowd. Cool Girl is in the house.
I see her smiling in the back of the room. A happy girl, maybe six years old, is sitting on her lap holding a picture book.
“I like reading so much,” I say, “I just started studying speed-reading. Last night, I read Harry Potter in five seconds! I know it’s only two words, but, hey, it’s a start.”
Another wave of laughter washes over me, and I feel a surge of happiness I haven’t felt in way too long.
This is why I love comedy.
Not for the fame or the glory or even the million-dollar checks that aren’t really worth a million bucks.
I love comedy because laughing makes me feel good. It makes me glad to be alive.
After my set, Uncle Frankie wows the crowd with all the tricks he learned from those yo-yo books.
The kids give him a standing ovation. I would’ve too, but, well… you know.
When we’re all done and busy signing autographs for our adoring fans, Cool Girl comes up to me.
“So, Jamie,” she says, coolly of course. “Do you remember who you are?”
“Yep,” I say with a grin. “I funny.”
And guess what?
This time she does kiss me!
Chapter 50
TIME FLIES WHEN YOU’RE HAVING FUN
I’m having so much fun being funny, I sort of lose track of time.
Good thing Uncle Frankie doesn’t.
“Come on, Jamie. We need to get you over to the studio, pronto!”
I’m thinking about lingering at the library. Okay, I’m thinking about that kiss from Cool Girl. Wondering if there might be a second one coming my way.
But Uncle Frankie’s right. We need to roll!
Fortunately, for once, the Long Island Expressway isn’t a parking lot. We make it to Silvercup Studios in the nick of time.
Or, judging by the posters we see in the lobby, we might be too late.
“You’re here,” says Mr. Wetmore when he sees us in the lobby. “Good. We’ll be uplinking your audition to LA. Joe Amodio came in from the golf course to see Little Willy Creme and you, Jamie.”
“How was Little Willy?” asks Uncle Frankie.
“Nasty, foul, and angry.”
“Was he funny?” I ask timidly.
“A couple guys in the control booth laughed, but not me.”
“What about Mr. Amodio?” I ask.
Mr. Wetmore puts his hand on my shoulder. “Jamie? Can I give you a little advice?”
“Sure.”
“Don’t worry about Mr. Amodio. Just be you.”
Uncle Frankie puts his hand on my other shoulder.
“I agree,” he says. “You funny.”
And so, at exactly 2:59 PM, I roll back onto the comedy club set.
The director, Brad Grody, is sitting in the audience. So are Little Willy Creme, Donna Dinkle, Stewart Johnson, Ms. Wilder, and all those other people in suits.
But you know what? I don’t really see them.
I see Cool Girl, telling me I have a big heart.
I see the kids at the library, laughing when I popped a wheelie.
I see those elementary schoolers who love telling me jokes just because it’s fun to crack each other up.
That’s who I want to be. One of those kids.
I want to laugh just because I’m extremely happy that I still can.
So, I get going.
“Hi, I’m Jamie Grimm. It’s great to be back. Y’know, my school has these NO BULLYING ZONE posters hanging all over the place. Only one problem: Bullies aren’t big readers. Reading’s not really a job requirement in the glamorous field of wedgie yanking.”
I
nail the opening monologue. People are laughing.
Then I veer off script and improvise a little.
“It’s true. Bullies don’t read. Not even in the bathroom. I guess that might explain why the biggest bully at my middle school, Lars from Mars, brushes his teeth with pimple cream. Read the label, Lars. Oh, right. You don’t like to read. Guess that’s why, every morning, you spray your armpits with a can of Cheez Whiz.”
What can I say? I’m having a blast.
In fact, I’m having so much fun, I don’t even care if I get the part.
Chapter 51
ON A ROLL
I do, like, fifteen minutes of material. Some from the script. Some straight off the top of my head.
When I’m done, even Little Willy Creme concedes defeat.
“You do the whole wheelchair schtick way better than me, man,” he says.
Donna Dinkle, who, by the way, might be the biggest phony I’ve ever met in my life, runs over and actually hugs me—chair and all.
“Okay, let him breathe,” says Uncle Frankie, gently pushing Donna aside. “Whoo, is there a Cinnabon near here?”
“No,” I say with a grin. “It’s her perfume.”
“Huh. Thought I was at the mall…”
We’re both laughing when Brad Grody saunters over.
“Little dude, this is totes awk. Sorry. It just didn’t do it for me. I’m not feeling the funny.”
“You know what, fur face?” snarls Little Willy Creme. “Maybe you should go back to lumberjack school or wherever you picked up that flannel shirt.”
“Easy, Willy. You’re my pick for the part.”
Willy does this sort of sideways sneer. “Well, big dude, you’re totes wrong. Only Jamie was born to play this role.”
“Actually,” I say, “I wasn’t born to play it. I sort of grew into it.”
Mr. Grody turns to one of his assistants. “Is Chatty Patty still in the building? I’d like Mr. Amodio to hear her do the part, as well.”
“I’d like to audition, too,” says Donna Dinkle, batting her eyelashes at the director. “I know how to drive a wheelchair.”
“No need, Donna,” says Mr. Wetmore, striding onto the set, holding out his phone. “Joe’s heard enough. He wants to talk to Jamie.”
Uh-oh. This is it.
The final heave-ho.
Mr. Amodio is giving my part to Little Willy.
I’m about to go into my standard panic mode and start spritzing sweat when Mr. Wetmore gives me a wink.
Well, what do you know?
I believe Mr. Wetmore already had a private chat with Mr. Amodio.
I also believe Uncle Frankie will be keeping his diner. And Smileyville will still be Smileyville!
“We go out live Friday night,” says Mr. Amodio. “The day after tomorrow. If you need anything, anything at all…”
“Well, sir, actually, I do need something.” My voice only cracks twice. It also squeaks a little.
“Name it, kiddo. You’ve got it.”
I take a deep breath and close my eyes. Summon up every ounce of courage I can find. “I need a new director.”
Brad Grody gasps. “Why, I never…”
“Yeah, well, get used to it,” cracks Little Willy. “I have a feeling it’s gonna happen to you a lot, pal, because, face it: You’re a lousy director.”
While Little Willy keeps blasting Brad Grody with insults, I plead my case with Mr. Amodio.
“We need a fresh pair of eyes, Mr. Amodio. Someone who really knows how to work with actors.”
“It’s a little late to change horses, Jamie baby. We’re kind of in midstream here.”
“We need Gilda Gold.”
“Gilda who?”
“Gold. She directed the short film that got me to the semifinals in Las Vegas.”
“That comedy concert in the school corridor? I saw that on YouTube. I loved that video. It was terrific.”
“Well, sir, Gilda’s the one who made it that way. She was my director.”
“Is that so? Is she available?”
I smile. “Yes, sir. I’m pretty sure she is.”
“Then it’s settled. Put me on speakerphone. Brad?”
The director shoots me a dirty look. “What?”
“You’re fired. And Jamie, go get me this Gilda Gold. She’s our new director.”
Wow! This is great. Gilda’s going to direct me in a live TV show.
I just hope she’s willing to listen to me so I can tell her.
Chapter 52
BUH-BYE, BRAD
Brad Grody storms off the set in a huff.
“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” says Uncle Frankie.
“Hear, hear,” adds Nigel Bigglebottom, the British actor playing Uncle Frankie in the show. “Bit of a dolt, eh, what?”
“Does ‘dolt’ mean he’s an idiot?” asks Uncle Frankie.
“Indeed.”
“Then I agree. Biggest dolt I ever met.”
“I am soooo glad we’re getting a new director,” says Donna Dinkle, batting her eyelashes at me this time. “Sure, we only have, like, less than two days to make any changes he might suggest…”
“It’s a she,” I remind her. “Gilda Gold. Your part, Jillda Jewel, is based on her.”
“Really? Super. Can’t wait to meet her.”
I would tell Donna that she already met Gilda, but I’d probably be wasting my breath. So instead, I simply say, “You might ask wardrobe to find you a Boston Red Sox cap.”
“Why?”
“It’s Gilda’s favorite team.”
Her eyes widen with delight. “Thanks for the tip, JG!” She dashes off to talk with (or scream at) the costumers.
“Do you have Ms. Gold’s phone number?” asks Mr. Wetmore.
I nod.
“Guess we better call her. See if she’s up for the job.”
“Yeah.”
And now I start sweating.
What if Gilda is still steamed at me? What if she refuses to direct my show because she can’t stand being in the same room (or television studio) with me? What if she treats me the way I sort of treated her?
“You okay?” asks Mr. Wetmore.
I gulp. “Never better.”
“You look kind of queasy,” says Uncle Frankie.
“Bad shrimp salad for lunch. It tasted a little off.”
“Jamie? You had soup for lunch.”
“See? I told you that shrimp tasted funny.”
“Are you stalling?” he asks.
“Totally.”
Uncle Frankie puts a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Gilda’s a good friend, Jamie. She might bust your chops a little, but don’t worry—in the end, she’ll always be on your side.”
I hope he’s right. I make the call. To my relief, she answers.
“Gilda? It’s me. Jamie.”
“Who?” she says, pretending not to recognize my voice.
“Jamie Grimm.”
“Oh, right. I had a friend named Jamie Grimm once. Nice kid. If you ever bump into him, tell him I miss him.”
“I miss you, Gilda,” I tell her. “That’s why I want to work with you.”
“On what? All the homework you skipped while you were off being a TV star?”
“No. I need your help on my TV show.”
There is a long pause.
“You know—Jamie Funnie.”
An even longer pause.
So I start rambling. “We just fired the director and the show goes on the air live the day after tomorrow and I told Joe Amodio, he’s the producer, that you would be the best person to take over for Brad Grody, who, as his name implies, is totally grody and kept trying to replace me and then… hang on.”
Mr. Wetmore is gesturing for me to hand him my phone.
“Ms. Gold?” he says. “This is Richard Wetmore, tech director on Jamie’s show. He’d like you to take over for Mr. Grody. Jamie says you’re the best director he’s ever worked with, and our producer, Joe Amodio, loved what you did with Jam
ie’s hallway comedy concert on YouTube. Of course, you’ll have to miss school tomorrow and Friday. Great. We’ll send a limo to pick you and Jamie up first thing in the morning. Right. See you tomorrow.”
Mr. Wetmore hands me back my phone.
“She’s in?” I ask.
“Yep.”
“Guess I should’ve mentioned that get-out-of-school-free stuff to her earlier, huh?”
“Yep.”
“Good to know.”
Donna Dinkle races back onto the set. She’s wearing a BoSox baseball cap and a new wig. In fact, her Jillda now looks exactly like Gilda.
“How’s this, Jamie?” she gushes.
“Perfect. But, Donna?”
“Yes?”
“Gilda Gold is going to be our director. That means we both have to listen to her and do what she tells us to do.”
Donna giggles. “I know that, silly goose. Don’t forget, I’ve been a TV star my whole life. Now, if you guys will excuse me, I need to tell wardrobe to bedazzle this baseball cap. Add some sequins and shiny baubles.”
“B-b-but…”
She’s gone before I can suggest that she wait to see what Gilda thinks of her costume.
Uncle Frankie taps me on the shoulder.
“You need to keep an eye on that one,” he says. “She looks like trouble.”
I agree. Trouble with a big, bedazzled T.
Chapter 53
GILDA IN CHARGE
This script is pretty good,” says Gilda, flipping through the pages. “I’m not crazy about this scene. It’s kind of flat.”
“We can fix it. Mr. Amodio said he’d give us whatever we need.”
“What about all the camera moves and sound cues?”
“Mr. Wetmore will handle those. You just make sure the actors are doing their jobs. Tell ’em it’s your way or the highway.”
“You’re one of the actors, right?”
“It was a close call, but yep.”
Gilda rubs her hands together gleefully. “Oh, this is going to be fun. Hey, do you think your new friend Jacky Hart might help us out?”